Power's Lament
by Oreo Stories
Summary: The Demon King is weary of the constant battle, of the eternal struggle against the Hero's spirit. His body had been taken by an ancient curse, his mind forced to watch as he tore apart a peaceful land in the name of power and revenge. But the curse's power is slipping. His voice is once again his own, and every defeat brings him closer to peace.
**The Legend of Zelda series does not belong to me**

* * *

How many times had they performed this deadly dance of fate? How many times had the great evil been defeated by the Hero? How many times had the Princess been rescued? Even Ganondorf did not know.

His memories were a jumbled, tangled mess- he knew that he had once been two different Demons, and a Wind Sorcerer, and even a wizard in lipstick for some reason, but he also knew that he had never been them, that he had always been Ganondorf, King of the Gerudo.

When he first touched the Triforce, his spirit was irrevocably merged with an ancient curse cast before Hyrule even existed. It was difficult, separating himself from his past lives, and conflicting memories only worsened his inner turmoil.

He remembered conquering Hyrule after gaining the Triforce, he remembered killing that Hero, but he also remembered dying, and being foiled before his plan could take hold.

He remembered returning and conquering Hyrule once again, only to be buried beneath the rising tides. He remembered being banished into a prison realm and manipulating a fool who believed him a god. He remembered being sealed inside the Sacred Realm, transforming it into a warped, dark place.

Who was he, really? Was he Ganondorf, or Demise? What had he lived through, and what had he not?

He supposed it didn't matter, not really. He was not truly in control; his mind had been usurped by the goddesses-damned curse when he was still young, and he had been forced to watch as he brought hell to the innocent.

The Hero was once again arriving to defeat him, just as he had many times before. Would whatever that was controlling him play the organ and spout some nonsense, or would he regain some semblance of control and beg the Hero for death? He had almost done that, once, after Hyrule was drowned beneath the sea, but his other self, the evil that controlled him, had stopped him just in time.

The Hero was garbed in the runes of his people, now, wielding magic more powerful than his past incarnations. Ganondorf knew he would not win, he never did, but he supposed he didn't have a choice.

* * *

"Welcome, Hero," boomed the Gerudo King to his soon-to-be killer. "I have been expecting you."

Link did not flinch, nor do anything save for scowl.

"I know you must be tired of our little game. To be honest, so am I." He could feel it, the curse was slipping once again. Now was the time.

"I'm afraid neither of us have any choice in the matter, unfortunately. This is not the first time we have dueled, and it likely will not be the last. We are trapped in an endless cycle, the valiant hero and the mighty conqueror. I have long since lost control over my own actions, this curse forcing me to return and plague the land in darkness and fear. I am weary of it all, but not even death will bring me peace; I have been resurrected many times, even as another. If I may make one request of you, Hero: break the cycle. Find a way to prevent my return, to give Hyrule the peace it deserves."

* * *

The battle between the two was not long, it never was. The Hero defeated him, and he was once again killed. As his spirit lingered, watching over the land while awaiting his return, he saw the Hero shed a tear, and the Princess pity him. He hoped it would be enough, to depend on them.

They would most likely be unable to truly prevent his return. There would always be hatred in this world, and the ancient curse of the Demon Lord was not easily broken, even by the power of the gods. But he did not worry. He would return eventually, and he would try as many times as it took. He was the incarnation of power itself, the great King of Thieves; his birth was prophesized, his might almost unparalleled. He would not allow himself to be enslaved by mere magic. He would keep trying, keep doing what he could to break the cycle.

The curse was already losing its grip; it had happened before, and it would happen again. He could not truly defy it, not yet, but he knew he would once again take control, eventually.

Perhaps he could one day live in peace, free from the destiny forced upon him by ancient hubris and malice. He could certainly hope.

And the more he hoped, the more his determination and will grew, the more control he regained.


End file.
